A Little Piece of Heaven
by DarkHeart89
Summary: Natasha and Clint were made to be private people. So private, that they were able to hide their relationship from the public. It isn't until circumstances are dire that they ever needed to reveal a thing. / Snippets of how AOU should have been; utterly Clintasha.
1. Chapter 1

A Little Piece of Heaven

Summary: Natasha and Clint were made to be private people. So private, that they were able to hide their relationship from the public. It isn't until circumstances are dire that they ever needed to reveal a thing.

Rating: T

Pairing: Clintasha [Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff]

AN: ALL RIGHT, so basically my muse for Clintasha has completely revamped itself from what it was 2011-2012. And it's dangerous. I met an AMAZING Clint and I've met a handful of really literate Avengers RPers, and I'm having fun.

So.. I finally decided to punish myself by watching Age of Ultron in its entirety, something I've been avoiding ever since the damn thing came out. Clint's family and Brutasha just killed me even possibly loving that movie.

GOOD NEWS; like many other Clintasha fans, I decided to add in my two cents regarding the movie. I'm going to FIX IT! By, of course, adding in some Clintasha, taking out some Brutasha and Clint's family, and putting a new spin on the movie.

I hope you enjoy. They're going to be 1-2k drabbles on wherever I could see room for improvement. And yes, the chapters go in order.

Enjoy!

[OoOoOoO]

Natasha could overhear Clint's grunts on the comm, frustrated. She kept it in mind as she fought, warding off various others with a series of blasts from her own hands. It wasn't difficult - they weren't dealing with HYDRA's best fighters. In fact, if she looked any closer - they were mediocre at best, hiding behind weapons like children.

Weapons that wounded Clint.

His pained groan startled her and her attention was lost, head jerking to look over her shoulder. Panic tinged her slightly, but she knew better than to let it get the best of her, regardless of the fact he'd been hit. It wouldn't be a minor wound - these blasts packed a punch.

"Clint!" She shouted, ceasing what she was doing entirely and rushing over to him. She should have figured it was only a matter of time before one of them got hit, and naturally it happened to be the second complete /human/ on the team; go figure.

"We have an enhanced in the field," Steve insisted in the comm, but at this point, that was useless information - at least to her.

"Clint's hit." Natasha insisted, hand to her ear, eyes alert as she evaded blasts. The last thing the team needed was two wounded. She skittered ungracefully to halt in front of his body, the snow too slick for even her combat boots as she knelt awkwardly alongside him.

Her eyes fell upon the deep wound, widening, but also in slightly relief. It wasn't unfixable. It'd seared his skin at most, a deep wound - but he could recover. This was nothing lethal. All she needed to do was apply direct pressure - that would at least clot the bleeding a decent amount, or slow it down.

She dug in her suit, rifling for the stashed gauze she kept for these emergencies, it'd serve as a temporary dressing and would hopefully eliminate any excess blood loss. The temperatures were fairly cold - open wounds that bled quite like this weren't ideal.

But he was groaning and writhing, and despite the fixability - she was sure it hurt like hell. But she refocused, wanting to ensure they didn't get hit again. "Somebody want to deal with that bunker?" She asked, gaze intent on the building aforementioned, before shifting back to Clint, trying to assure him as she unrolled the gauze.

He cracked a pained grin, but she supposed that'd have to suffice as /her/ reassurance for now.

Her head snapped up, grateful to Bruce. "Thank you." Finally unraveling it all, pressing the soft chunks firmly into his side. His head slammed back into the ground and he jerked painfully, which she didn't blame him for, but she needed to apply pressure, otherwise it wouldn't do a damn thing. He knew that.

Unfortunately for him, it only got worse, as she unleashed her upper body strength to really try and clot it.

Her free hand came to tilt his head in her direction, his back arched in pain. "Can't shake this one off, huh?" Speaking to him would offer a distraction; hopefully it would dull the pain at least a bit. Her thumb stroked along his cheek, attempting to divert his attention with the gentle touch, alongside her words. Normally she'd be against showcasing such blatant affection, let alone out in the field, but he needed it right now; something to distract him.

Half of her mind was focused on him and the other was focused on what was still going on around them. They weren't just dealing with HYDRA's groupies anymore, now they had an enhanced to deal with - a much too fast enhanced. This was dangerous, especially for Clint in his condition.

"Easier said than done," He grit out, clenching his teeth as a shudder rolled through his body again. The pain was intense; every time he moved, he could feel it course through him like a new flesh wound had been added. But Nat was here, at least.

He brought up one of his hands, clasping it over hers gently. With that, he tilted his head into her palm and pressed his lips there, his hazel eyes grateful. Her own lips quirked briefly, but the gesture was still hardly a comfort, especially when a pained convulsion followed.

"Clint's hit pretty bad, guys; we're gonna need evac." The blood was soaking through the gauze easily and she wasn't a neverending supply of it. His brave face was faltering and they needed to get him out. It had served as a good attempt, but he needed expedient medical care. At least if they got him back to the jet, a proper tourniquet could be applied and he could get pain medication into his system.

He'd have too much pride to admit he needed any, but she knew. Anyone knew. Ask the hole in his side.

She could overhear Steve and Thor over the comm - the god was coming to transport him. She would have done it herself if she had confidence that she'd be able to get him there unscathed.

Her eyes once again roamed his pained face and she kept up the ministrations of her hand, distracting him whilst they awaited Thor. Once they could hear the wind-slapped sound of his entrance, his hand dropped from hers and her own drew back to clasp over the gauze, giving it one last hearty push, a groan eliciting from Clint.

"One of the beams clipped him pretty deeply," Natasha informed as the blonde crouched down beside her. "He needs a tourniquet and coverage. Secure him in the jet and he'll be fine."

With a moment's hesitation, she removed her hand from the wound and stood, allowing Thor to hoist him up bridal style. It would have been more comedic for Natasha if the pained grunts from the movement hadn't overpowered the humor.

But Clint knew her and he raised a finger. "Not - a word - to anyone." He was too hurt to bother indulging his tone with any real threat. Natasha couldn't say she would have said anything, not in his condition. Any teasing would be saved until much much later, when they were far from the earshot of others.

"Don't worry, Barton. You're not the first man I have rescued this way." The god added with a grin. Clint's expression was less than comforted by the notion.

Natasha crumpled the gauze and discarded it in the snow. "Just - " Her words faded off and she gave Thor a nod. "Go." And with that, the blonde made off with the fallen archer.

She took a few steps back, taking a full scope around for the first time in a few minutes. They'd wrapped up nicely. "We're locked down out here." Tony's bots were finishing gathering up HYDRA's goons - the fight was virtually over.

"Then get to Banner," Steve ordered over the comm. "Time for a lullaby."

She exhaled uneasily. Now she was needed again.

[OoOoOoO]

AN: And part one is complete. It's little snippets - nothing too out of character. What will really be changing will be Brutasha or Laura/Clint parts. Until those rise to the surface, subtle things like this should be expected.

Reviews are my life; don't kill me!


	2. Chapter 2

A Little Piece of Heaven

Summary: Natasha and Clint were made to be private people. So private, that they were able to hide their relationship from the public. It isn't until circumstances are dire that they ever needed to reveal a thing.

Rating: T

Pairing: Clintasha [Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff]

AN: So I haven't been able to update this at all, which has been very sad given this seemed to be a pretty big hit with readers. However, I did start a Civil War sequel to this, so check that out! I might update this one first, but I don't know. I watched the first fifteen of AOU and formally planned out the chapters in my notebook, so I'm hoping I can get more out of this sooner rather than later.

Especially considering this chapter was HORRID to write, frankly, and I'll have much more fun with the other bits I intend to toy with and add. This seemed more like a filler than anything, but I wanted to include this part, however small and somewhat lame it is.

Hope you enjoy!

[OoOoOoO]

It was only after she was certain that the perimeter was completely clear that she could come back; however much she may have wanted to head back immediately, she had to make sure the job was done. Thankfully, according to Tony over the comms, he had located the scepter: that was good enough news.

Now that those loose ends were wrapped up, all primary functions were focused now on Clint's health and safety. Detain the scepter and get the hell out of this bunker.

She beat back the others as she made her own way back, stepping into the Quinjet to see Clint already spread on the table, arm draped limply over his stomach, head turned to the side in pain, tendons visibly straining in his neck. It was a sorry image. His chest was rising and dropping slowly, and he appeared stable enough, but she could see the bare-ness of his injury and that proved to be the only incentive she needed.

Immediately she began scouring around for the emergency supplies, pace efficiently quick as she brought out the industrial-sized first aid kit from amongst the various cabinets and cubbies on the Quinjet. She located the lengthy tourniquet buried beneath other odds and ends, and approached Clint, feeling Thor's eyes on her as she worked. The god had done his job, brought him here and set up the center station, but now there were the more complicated bits to attend to. He could make an example out of this for future missions, she was sure. Medical expertise wasn't his usual terrain, but at some point it just might need to be.

She was able to restrain from any touches that appeared out of the ordinary as she bent to attend to him, gently touching the side of his neck to blink him to attention. "Clint," She murmured seriously. "I'll need you to help me with this. We need to get this tourniquet around you for the ride." The most the wound had done was begin to dry out around the edges, but the strip of exposed, bleeding skin was still too broad to seal itself. She'd known that in the field and she really knew it now.

The archer merely blinked wearily in acknowledgement, grunting as he turned his gaze towards her, head thumping defeatedly against the stretcher. "Alright."

Her eyes flickered back over to their observer, tilting her head contemplatively. "Thor." He sprung to attention at the sound of his name. "Could you come over here? I'll need your help lifting him while I fix the tourniquet around him."

"Yes, yes, of course." Thor insisted, wandering over immediately to be of use, hands posed on his hips. Clint, however, was less than pleased about needing to be hoisted up for a second time and voiced his feelings.

"Not this again," He muttered discontentedly, tensing prematurely at the thought. He'd already been brought here less-than-heroically and a bit roughly, too; Thor wasn't exactly the gentle giant everyone made him out to be, no matter how hard he sometimes tried.

Her eyes flickered to him in amusement, but nodded the go ahead towards Thor. She counted down from three before he was lifted, restrained sounds of pain vibrating in the back of his throat. She empathized, but also used it as an incentive to work faster, winding the thick bandage tightly around his torso. Only once she settled it and tucked it in did she give Thor the okay to drop him back down.

It was good they'd made their work quick, because almost as soon as she'd finished the wrap, everyone else came bustling in. Tony gave the scene a once over as he made his way to the front to direct their leaving and Steve came over to get a glance at them, concerned and micromanaging as always.

"He's stable?" Steve asked, smiling down in what he assumed was a reassuring way at the ailing Clint, not that he was really taking notice of the gesture.

"As much as he can be with his skin blasted off. He'll need medical attention when we get back, something more permanent than a tourniquet, but I think he'll be fine." Natasha answered, not removing her gaze from him.

Clint opened his eyes to stare up at them, an annoyed furrow to his eyebrows. "Guys? I'm right here. Right - here." Voice gruff from the pain despite the joking nature of his statement.

"Taking off." Tony called, firing the engines and setting forward the controls. "Buckle up and take a seat unless you're interested in being tossed around the cabin, passengers." The joke was an effort and if Natasha gave thought to his strained tone, she would have found some way to contest him later about it - now just wasn't the time.

Giving Clint one last look, clutching a hand over his shoulder just for a brief second, she abandoned him to take a seat, Steve following suit as he headed towards the back.

She glanced around for Bruce and found him tucked away in his private corridor, generally where he chose to go after going green. He tended to isolate himself and bury himself in music of some kind, a calming agent to put himself back together after relinquishing control. Everyone would leave him alone and no one questioned what he needed to do because everyone had their rituals, but sometimes one of them needed to pull him out of his brooding.

"JARVIS, could you run a quick scan of Barton while we take off?" Tony asked his AI, shifting gears into control and powering up the engines. "Need to give the med staff a bit of forewarning before we bring back a wounded bird, see who we need to bring in." The comment drew an amused puff of breath from Clint, but nothing more, the pain teetering him on the edges of consciousness.

One of them had already sent back a call ahead regarding a wounded team member, so that was settled. All was left was the details to prepare for immediate medical care.

Natasha found relief in the precautions, resting easier despite the instinctive protective gaze she latched to him. As they took off, she couldn't help but watch him, mindful of the shifting of the craft and the semi-jerky movement it was giving off as they searched for smooth air of some kind. He always pretty good at masking his pain, just like she was, at least in the field. Seared in the side and she'd hear groans at most; splinter in the thumb and he'd be complaining about it for hours. He was enigmatic in his own right. It was kind of funny.

Eventually they reached a proper altitude and it was safe enough to wander around, to which she immediately neared him to press the back of her hand against his forehead. He was warm to the touch, probably severely dehydrated and operating on low functions from the blood loss. "Cap, can you pull out a bag? I think Clint could use something to dull this for the time being. Touchdown isn't at least for another half an hour." The bleeding may have been managed, but the pain he was in hadn't dulled, she was sure, especially with the added direct contact of the tourniquet.

Her request was acknowledged as she began readying the tubing, fingers swift and maybe a little antsy. Clint wearily opened his eyes to peer at her near handiwork, feeling her stretch his arm out along his side, feeling along for a proper vein. He wasn't going to protest when he felt like road kill squared, but even still. She was such a worrier, sometimes.

She gently inserted the needle, taping it down while Steve brought the bag and stand, aiding her in setup. She spared him a grateful look for a brief moment, connecting the tubing to the bag and waiting for the telltale drip, eyes glued to their handiwork while Steve shifted away to speak to Tony and let her take care of it.

Her attention was torn away only when Clint raised a hand to clasp around her wrist, gentle. She looked to him then, scanning his exhausted countenance. His smile was crooked, but it always was. "Relax." He insisted, jerking his head only slightly to where she'd been sitting. "Sit down for a few minutes. I'm fine." His voice gruff from exertion, pointedly looking at the IV she'd set up. "You made sure of that."

"Thor and Bruce did a better job of making sure you were fine." She murmured lowly, giving his own wrist a squeeze before she drew away, arms crossed. Not the time or the place. Besides, he was giving her /that/ look and she knew it wasn't up for discussion.

"Rest." She told him once, before retiring to her seat. She craned her hearing to take a listen on Tony's conversation with Steve, a brief overview of the medical arrangements. Apparently he was paging Dr. Cho, something experimental about her latest medical breakthroughs, rumored to offer a quicker, durable solution. He'd be back in the field with them as soon as possible and that put her at ease.

She allowed herself those several minutes of solace, listening absently to the hushed voices before she heard Steve wander away and her eyes reopened, tracking his movements. He was speaking to Clint, then, and she suddenly didn't feel like sitting.

Steve touched the tube's connection to his inner elbow, testing to ensure the connection was sure. "You alright?"

It was a funny question, but since the pain had dulled a bit, he was more capable of answering. "Aside from the hole in my side, yeah, I'm just dandy. What about you, Captain?" Eyes blearier from his drugged state.

It garnered a chuckle and he nodded just the once. "Just fine." Making his rounds as he drifted back to Thor. It was her opening as she got up casually from her seat, a small smile playing on her lips as she approached him again. He was more him, now, which was good. It meant the drugs were /working/.

She touched his arm again, raising an eyebrow. "Need me to hold your hand?" Her voice teasing, downgrading his injury just to lighten the atmosphere. If he was lucid enough, which he was, he could see the tension in the way she stood and the slight clench of her jaw. He knew her well.

"If you insist," He began in a hushed whisper, flicking his eyebrows up in a dopey, suggestive fashion that was more humorous than anything. He was fine, he would be fine, he knew that no matter how shitty he was currently feeling - he just needed to reinstate that towards her, clearly.

She would have laughed if his pain still wasn't in the forefront of her mind. "Idiot," She retorted affectionately, but turned his gaze to the brooding man in his quadrant, hunched and still milking the sounds of symphonies. As far as time was concerned, he'd been brooding for twenty. The transition from brooding to the rest of the team was quickly approaching.

He followed her glance, still beyond drained, but able to read her mind nonetheless. This entire experience was a scare to her; he knew that much. After the situation in New York and the rebuild, he'd recovered, but he knew the experience still lingered in her mind, though in a different way that it did his. Sometimes he was convinced she was waiting for the call that he'd gotten himself into another mess, but since they were together so frequently with teamwork, he knew that helped. She was grateful to Bruce, just like she was grateful to Thor, and just like he was sure she'd be grateful to whoever fixed him up.

That was just her, now.

"Go talk to him." He chuckled, a slight quirk to his lips. Then she could get it out of her system, maybe come back and keep him a little company. She was unsure, she could tell, but he nodded again. "Come on, I'm not going anywhere."

And he wasn't.

[OoOoOoO]

AN: Thanks for reading!

Reviews are my life; don't kill me!


	3. Chapter 3

A Little Piece of Heaven

Summary: Natasha and Clint were made to be private people. So private, that they were able to hide their relationship from the public. It isn't until circumstances are dire that they ever needed to reveal a thing.

Rating: T

Pairing: Clintasha [Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff]

AN: Well, I randomly got muse to write out a chapter three so soon, which is really a miracle. My muse when it comes to writing AU's for the movie are seldom, so this was great. I was actually able to crunch this one out pretty quickly despite my link to watch AOU being a huge dick to work with.

Really, I had to load the damn thing fifteen different times. I needed to extract the dialogue for the end of it, and of course that was near impossible. All of my other electronics were occupied so I couldn't even look up the script, instead I had to wait in agony for it to load and stop stuttering. Oh, what I do to get this story together.

This one is also kind of cute, but my next chapter is GOING TO BE my favorite. And the one following that. These are the two I've imagined more times than I can count and really, it's what I've been looking forward to doing the entire story, outside of the fix of the farmhouse. That one is going to be a huge chapter and I can just tell, but four and five are going to be fun.

Up until now, it's just been a lot of adding little snippets and subtly reworking moments, but from here on out, it's going to be a lot of shit from my own mind and that makes me very very happy.

Enjoy!

[OoOoOoO]

There was something automatic about the way Natasha followed after the gurney, keeping easy pace with the female staff as they escorted Clint to the lab. It raised some looks, all curious to see exactly how the archer had wounded himself this go around, but Natasha's gaze was too focused on his face and the occasional flicker of pain on the odd jerk. The IV may have been taking a bit of the edge off, but it was hard to numb a bare patch of skin.

Of course the others were eventually going to trail after them, but it was Natasha who wanted to be at his side at all times. This wasn't exactly something that could go too wrong, but with the track record that some of them had had in the past when it came to various injuries, she had learned not to take chances in any regard. The hard part had been the transport and he was still fairly lucid, so she was going to call it a premature victory - at least for now.

Carefully, they lifted him onto the bed, a pillow to elevate his head, some cushion along the seat. To Clint's dismay, he found himself eyeing a somewhat encasing machine pushed to the side and he had a brief moment of clarity from back in the Quinjet, when he'd heard murmured discussion of Dr. Cho's newest advancement.

He knew it was going to fix him, but he always got antsy around medical staff [ask Nat and the one time he'd drifted back into consciousness in the middle of a MRI], even someone the Avengers had acquainted themselves with plenty over the past few months. He just couldn't recall a time where a procedure like this had ever been necessary.

To Natasha's credit, she didn't pull up a seat, didn't leer too closely. Instead, she just watched, out of the way as Dr. Cho familiarized herself with the injury, unwinding the tourniquet from his form efficiently, but gently; it was an effort that Natasha inwardly appreciated.

Clint arched his head to the side, burying the side of his face in the pillow while his injury was revealed, the tourniquet wet with fresh blood and caked with dried blood. His injury wasn't in the best shape and before they could even think of properly introducing treatment, they'd need to clean it to reduce the possibility of infection.

He met Natasha's eyes briefly, a half-grimace on his face, and she offered him a reassuring quirk of her lip, arms folded on the side lines. That helped a little.

His flinching was kept to a minimum as soon as he felt someone dabbing at the excess blood, possibly a nurse while Cho attended to the machine. He clenched his fist, but it was his only sign of being affected - the wariness on his face may have added to his situation.

Cho engaged in a scientific chatter with a nurse briefly of details Natasha didn't care to listen to at the moment, something along the lines of cell replication and quick healing. It wound up being the gist of what she needed to know. While they were programming and gabbing, she took the opportunity to draw nearer and crouch down beside the archer.

"Seems like they're going to have you fixed up soon." She murmured, resting her folded arms in front of his head, chin atop them as she stared.

He grunted, his frequent means of response lately, eyes half-lidded. "Seems like it. Kind of tired of the hole in my side; makes me a bit of Debbie downer, if you ask me."

She smiled to her own violation. "It does. All the rest of us are walking around completely able bodied, meanwhile you're sporting the injury of the month."

"Sorry to disappoint you." He chuckled, flexing slightly and immediately regretting it. Natasha tensed, instinctive in her care, but only in her eyes. "Relax, Tasha. Just a little sore, if you couldn't tell."

The mirth in her eyes had long been washed away with worry and as endearing as it was, he knew he had to rein her in a little bit. He had no doubt that Cho would have him up and ready within the hour; Natasha was just - careful.

"So dinner, tonight, what do you want?" He offered as a distraction, rubbing his ear against his bicep just to stall a sudden itch.

Her eyebrows raised incredulously. "Are you kidding? You want to discuss dinner right now?" She shouldn't have been surprised, not really. This was Clint through and through, brushing off his well-being and looking into the future. It would be an admirable look on anyone else that she didn't care for as much, but on him it just had a tendency to infuriate her.

He pressed his lips together, popping them just once. "Mm, yep. Looks like it. Something greasy, preferably. None of that rabbit shit you, Stark, and Banner get into. A pizza would be good." His words slurred and gruff, occasionally laced with the odd shrill sign of pain as the wound was cleaned.

Soon enough, he felt very little, a twinge here and there to remind him of exactly what was happening. Based on his experience, they'd probably numbed the area. However they were going to fix him up, he wasn't going to be put under and stitching together his skin or applying new skin or whatever? That probably was going to hurt a decent amount.

The conversation got lost in the shuffle of movement as Cho set up the scanner and Natasha had to retake up her initial stance, watching the rapid-fire configuring as the machine sprung to life. It took some alignment and a brief warning to Clint about a prickly, foreign feeling and vague pain before the process began.

Well, the pain part of the warning had initially played a bigger part in it [he blamed the temporary somatoform, head game and all], but the foreign sensation of cell replication along his side, covered by a plastic agent of some sort? That was a bit more distracting.

He smacked his lips, trying to wet them and lead to a distraction. He felt like his lips were going to crack off and he -knew- he was croaking; Natasha just wasn't going to say anything and he knew that, but his light at the end of the tunnel decided to walk in, checking on the beginning of the process.

"Everything gong without a hitch? No trouble setting anything up?" He first asked Dr. Cho, before his attention diverted to Clint once he received the affirmation he was looking for. "What about you, Barton? How're you holding up? Ready to be the Avengers' first Ken doll?"

He craned his head a bit, barely able to eye him with the way he was laid. "Did you see that monstrosity Nat gave me as a gag gift for Christmas? -That- is the Avengers' first Ken doll. Damn thing still terrifies me." He snorted, tiredly resting his head back down.

Tony chuckled, wandering around the set up, dodging Cho and leaving her to her musings, already having been briefed on the whole thing on the way over. "Need anything? Barbie doll? Blanket? Something with sleeves?"

"I'm thirsty." He uttered, regretting the look he took at his side and forcibly removing his stare. Yeah, it was a bit weird to watch your own skin recreate.

"You too, Romanoff?" Tony asked, flicking an eyebrow at the quiet spy in the corner. She'd still been watching, ever-so-diligent. "Something to sip?"

"Why not?" Shrugging, not really concerned with beverages, but she wouldn't really be concerned with anything while Clint was still healing; she fixated.

"And I'll snag something for you, too." He nodded to Cho, but she was understandably occupied. He took that as his cue to leave.

With that, he was off, easing out of the lab. Three seemed like enough in that room and Natasha had a big enough presence for everyone. Tony didn't blame her, really. Once he'd heard a couple years about about -why- and -how- she'd been properly involved in their endeavor to save New York, he'd always known there'd been a certain protectiveness Clint and her had for each other. Partners for however many years, secret-exchanging best friends. Hell, he's pretty sure he saw a friendship necklace involved in the mix, but he wasn't going to point it out.

He liked his balls where they were.

For a long time [even still now], he played with the idea that they were -more- than partners, more than best friends, but they were very good at keeping anything, if there was anything at all, private, and that generally put to bed any of his theories, at least from making it to intervening verbalizations.

Once again, he liked his balls where they were.

Natasha's eyes only removed from Clint when Bruce entered, stealing a lab coat off a hook and getting into action. It was pleasant to see him drifting back into his old self, shaking off the remnants of the Hulk's control for now. His love of science always trumped his self-loathing and that was admirable. There was a reason why he and Tony were more often than not geeking out, if not for the general sake of it.

Finally, she decided to duck down and watch the process from closer than afar. Clint may have found discomfort in watching, but it really was an incredible thing to watch in her opinion.

"You sure he's really going to be okay?" She asked, half-noticing that Clint had slipped into a bit of a catatonic state of just letting things happen. A little bit of light-heartedness would give him a reason to keep awake. She stood back, folding her arms when he shifted, jerking his head in acknowledgment of her. "Pretending to need this guy really brings the team together."

"There's no possibility of deterioration." He looked a little relieved at that. "The nano-molecular functionality is instantaneous." She informed really the whole room as she checked the level of reproduction. "His cells don't know they're bonding with simulacrum."

She had little time to ponder it when Bruce added, "She's creating tissue." Awe-struck and completely entranced by her work he was, while Natasha just looked at him the once.

"If you brought him to my lab, the re-generation cradle could do this in twenty minutes." Cho insisted, but Tony interrupted her with drinks, possibly to draw her away from criticizing the environment. He was prideful of the tech he had here at the tower and probably longed for a re-generation cradle of their own.

"Oh, he's flat-lining. Calling it. Time?" He asked, checking his watch mockingly.

"No, no, no. I'm gonna live forever." Clint bit out, chuckling hastily. "I'm gonna be made of plastic." His excitement was really not there, but eager to accept the offered beverage. Green sludge appearance or not, it did have a good taste to it. Some things just didn't -look- very appetizing.

Natasha just wished the bit about him living forever would be true. At whatever point, she wouldn't care if he was ninety-nine percent plastic; he would still be Clint inside.

She accepted her own drink quietly, just holding it while she watched him.

Cho slowly made her way over to him, amused by the implication. "You'll be made of you, Mr. Barton. Your own girlfriend won't be able to tell the difference."

The spy in the room quirked a single eyebrow at the assumption, but said nothing. She'd be able to tell, she was sure. Her fingers had become well-acquainted with Clint's body over the years and the feeling of his skin was a familiar one. Despite her lack of complaints regarding the quick fix, she knew she'd know. Clint probably did, too.

His brow furrowed a bit as he went for another drink, pausing over his straw. "I don't have a girlfriend." Mock-somber in the way he said, but in a subtle way only she could detect.

It made Natasha smirk behind the guise of her straw, amused by the interjection. Had he not been subtle, she would have had to give him a talking to later about secret keeping. Smug bastard always attempted to get away with hints while he was wounded, exploiting her worries to about as far as he could.

What could she say? They both could be opportunists.

Her irritation over his idiocy could never become larger than the still pending worry over his healing.

"That, I can't fix." Cho replied with humor, amused by the problem.

Clint glanced over at Natasha as he drank, smug and a bit sheepish. The best she could do was faux agitation, quirking a single eyebrow in question at his little joke, but it was no good when he stared at her like that.

All she did was lift her drink ominously to her lips as the conversation continued without them, beginning a slow walk around the room. The reminder of the party on Saturday had her even more appreciative of Dr. Cho's work on Clint. He'd be more than up to par for it and out of excuses for not attending.

He was one of those solitary guys that preferred the company of himself in a high, inaccessible location. Getting him to attend populated events was about as easy as dental work on the Hulk, but this would be fun. Now that the flashy get-togethers were a little less infrequent when it came to Tony's knack for organizing outlandish social functions, the odd one here or there was nice.

Don't get her wrong, she was also solitary - but her social skills had improved, much to Clint's dismay. He'd rather hang out with her at his perch.

Cho's inquiry about Thor's attendance hung around in her mind while Tony led Banner out of the room, having thoroughly assured her he'd make it. It was cute, really. Such a crush. She didn't blame her, because he was good looking - anyone with eyes could see it. Clint had even referred to him in such a way on a handful of occasions, despite the 'still very heterosexual, Nat' that generally followed the admission.

The last thing she required was an assurance of any kind, but it was funny nonetheless. Straight men and their insecurities.

"So Thor was all the incentive you needed to come to Tony's party? If only Clint were that easy." She remarked, sending him a particular look that gave him a flash of what had been in her mind that last several minutes. "Thanks to you, he won't have an excuse to not come."

If she looked close enough, Cho may have been blushing, but Clint spoke up for her.

"Find me a hot date and maybe I'll have an incentive, huh? Cho can't fix the fact I don't have a girlfriend, maybe you can find me one, matchmaker." Oh, he was being ridiculously cheeky and wearing that damn mask she'd taught him for missions years back. She'd helped fine-tune the facade he was giving her now and he was really an ass for it. A semi-wounded ass, but still an ass.

When she'd met him, his ability to steel himself had been equivalent to grumpy cat. Now, he was believable.

Even if she didn't appreciate bringing up her endeavors with getting Steve a date. Really, she just wanted to help him and if he couldn't find his big boy trousers and approach Sharon, well, she'd prod with other girls until he cracked. It was a devious plot.

"I'll see what I can do. The second I find myself a hot date, I'll look into getting you one." She arched a challenging eyebrow for the umpteenth time, setting aside the remainder of her drink and trotting out for a bit.

She knew that would leave him internally a little slack-jawed, though amused. He was fine, sewing up plenty well and snarky enough to fully lucid now, so she could duck out. Besides, she needed to disappear and check on the state of a few things. Had Clint not gotten injured, they would have been able to check on things promptly this evening with a visit, but that just wasn't probable yet.

Instead, she passed Tony and Bruce and wandered to the 'boardroom', stealing a tablet from one of the nooks in the wall and logging in. A quick check-in would calm the remaining twenty-five percent of her anxiety; it'd been a week and a half since last visit and she liked check-in's. Just because she didn't need assurances on Clint's sexuality, didn't mean she didn't need assurances regarding other things.

Maybe they could sneak away once before Saturday.

Maybe.

[OoOoOoO]

AN: Hope you enjoyed!

Reviews are my life; don't kill me!


End file.
